


The Ghost of Failures Past

by sunstarunicorn



Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [6]
Category: Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU of Haunting the Barn, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-21 19:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9563354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: When Danny Rangford locks himself in the briefing room, he has no idea he’s just locked himself in with Greg Parker’s niece and nephew.  Can Team One talk Danny down with two of their own in the line of fire?  AU of Haunting The Barn





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for 01x12: Haunting the Barn. Pretty much the entire episode. And I am using dialogue from the episode. This story is the sixth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows “General Response”.
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.

The squat steel-hued robot advanced on the small black suitcase, its treads and motor whirring and clanking. At the back of the tank treads and the steel motor box, a sturdy metal arm rose, arching over the rest of the robot like a scorpion’s tail stinger. A camera was mounted to the top of the tail and at the front, a cannon was already being aimed at the suitcase.

At a safe distance away, the raven-haired operator frowned at his screen. “We got a possible IED. Batteries, wire, pipe,” he announced. Next to him, looking at the screen, was a slightly taller man with very tan skin and a serious expression.

In the nearby black command truck a woman with her brown hair in a ponytail started the countdown, “Five…”

The robot, already turned to face its target, motored forward toward the suitcase.

“Confirming no visible identification,” the grim operator reported.

“Four…”

The robot’s arm lowered a bit; its cannon shifting into position.

“Blocking remote detonators,” the operator confirmed.

“Three…”

“Going to try chemical detection for any nerve agents.”

“Two…”

“This isn’t good.”

“One.”

“Fire in the hole.”

The robot fired, demolishing the suitcase in one blow.


	2. It’s Hot in Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who just skipped the prologue because it's so darn short; I say again: spoilers for 01x12: Haunting the Barn. Pretty much the entire episode. And I am using dialogue from the episode. This story is the sixth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows “General Response”.
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.

_4 hours earlier_

Greg Parker suppressed a groan as he overheard the whining, moaning, and complaining in the locker room. His _nipotes_ had had the audacity to smirk at him and inform him that they’d applied cooling charms before leaving the apartment that morning. He’d gotten them back though, telling them that since they had cooling charms, they wouldn’t mind spending all day at the barn.

As he drew closer to the door he heard Spike all but wail, “I’m dying already.”

Ed’s response was typically dry and witty. “Want me to write you a note? Get you out of class?”

Spike played it up, “Could ya? Would ya, Officer Lane?”

Greg bit back a chuckle at his team’s antics as Wordy spotted him and demanded, “Boss, what’s the word?”

“They got a guy coming in for the AC.”

“Okay,” Wordy half-cheered.

“Alleluia,” was Spike’s contribution.

Greg grimaced and dropped the bomb, “Tomorrow.”

Groans rose. “Nice,” Spike snipped.

Wordy didn’t bother to hide his annoyance, “Oh, come on.”

“Be sure to ask the kids how their cooling is going to hold up to today’s temperatures,” Greg requested, drawing a few sly smirks from his team. “Okay, we’re going to hit the briefing room and then we’re going to patrol in air-conditioned comfort.”

“Have I told you recently how much I really do love you?” Spike asked, as the men headed toward the briefing room.

Jules joined them with a “Hello, boys,” as she slipped out of her locker room.

“Jules!” Greg greeted, though he didn’t slow. He still had to tell Kira that the kids were going to be at headquarters all day. He stopped when he reached Kira’s desk and started with business, “Kira, we’re going to hit the streets. Team Two’s going to hit Rexdale.” Kira nodded in acknowledgement and Greg was about to go on when a man coming in caught his eye. “Sergeant Rangford,” he called out, pointing at the newcomer.

The new arrival was an older man in his upper sixties, who was about Greg’s height with gray hair that was starting to go white on the edges. He was half bald and also sported a mustache and the beginnings of a beard. The mustache and beard were more white than gray. His laugh lines were well worn and his blue eyes were fairly clear. He wore a red shirt, a black jacket, and had a shoulder bag slung over his right shoulder. The partially unzipped jacket was odd as it was the beginning of August and even hotter in the station without AC. As Greg moved over to the man, hand extended, Rangford corrected him, “That’s, uh, Mr. Rangford to you, sir.”

Greg grinned back at the man, “Hey, don’t call me sir. I work for a living.” Rangford chuckled at the comment. “How you doing, Daniel?”

“I’m doing fine. It’s good to see you, Greg. How are the kids?”

The Sergeant lit up at that question. “They’re great, did really well on their final exams. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you again. You look good, Danny. What are you doing out in the barn? A day like today, you should be out, uh, hitting the golf course.”

“What, are you kidding me? You been out there?”

“Well…” Greg trailed off as Ed, who had snuck up behind him, broke into the conversation.

“You don’t call. You don’t write.” Ed grinned at his mentor, giving him a brief hug.

“Eddie,” Danny cried in delight, “How you doing?”

Ed’s response was almost standard. “Fine. Fine.” Greg suppressed a roll of his eyes, typical Ed.

“So? How’s Sophie and Clark?” Danny asked, not noticing Greg’s response to Ed’s remarks.

“They’re good. They’re all good, yeah.”

Danny’s eyes lit up as he looked past Ed to another Team One member. “Spike.” Spike’s smile was wide as Ed moved aside to let the two talk. “You still wear the rookie badge?” Danny asked.

“Nah-uh,” Spike said proudly and tugged Sam over. “This is, uh, Sam Braddock. He’s new, but he’s trying.”

“Hey,” Sam greeted the man he hadn’t met before.

The two shook hands as Danny told him, “Good to meet you, I’m Danny.”

Before any more chatter could be exchanged, Kira called, “Hot call, Team One, gear up.”

Team One jerked to attention, turning toward their dispatcher as Greg asked, “What do we got?”

“Suspicious package. Train station, south terminal.” As Kira reeled off the information, she gave Spike a little smile that spread into a grin and nod as the latter lifted his hands in a minor cheer.

“Babycakes, I’m coming!” Spike yelled as the tech tore off to retrieve the explosives-disposal robot.

Greg shook Danny’s hand as the alarm began to whoop in the background. Ed clapped Danny on the shoulder with a, “Take it easy, Danny,” on his way past. “Let’s go!” he ordered his team.

Wordy and Jules waved to Danny, the latter calling, “Hey, Danny!”

In less than a minute, Danny was left alone in the atrium, staring after Team One. He smiled to himself, murmuring, “Keep the peace, boys.”

* * * * *

“Who called it in?” Ed asked as they rolled toward the train station.

The Boss’s response was immediate, “The security guard. He says the suitcase has been there almost an hour.”

“Copy that,” Ed replied.

Their resident bomb tech broke in, “We gotta keep the perimeter wide. We gotta keep it locked down.”

Sam, driving Ed’s truck queried, “Hey, who was that guy at the station?”

Ed looked over at the rookie. “Danny Rangford,” he started. “Most decent, honest cop I ever met in my life. Guy’s a legend, retired about a year ago. He’s the guy that brought me into the SRU.”

“You?” Sam asked, one brow going up in surprise.

“Yeah. Him and Barney Fletcher, the two of ‘em, they fought to have us trained in psychology and negotiation. Wasn’t for them, we’d be straight-up SWAT.”

“So…” Sam fidgeted, but curiosity won out. “Does he know…”

Understanding Sam’s oblique reference, Ed shook his head at once. “He’s met ‘em, doesn’t know anything more than what the Boss told him.”

Sam nodded. “He was commander?”

“Never made it past sergeant. Avoided promotion.”

“Why?”

“Keeps you in the action,” Ed explained.

“Thought maybe it was the booze.” Ed’s head snapped around and the team leader stared at his rookie. “You didn’t smell it off him?” Sam asked, surprised. Ed kept his gaze on Sam, but had no reply.

* * * * *

Kira looked up at the man everyone had said was a legend; one of the men responsible for making the SRU what it was. “You new here?” he asked, leaning against the counter by her desk.

“Four months,” she told him with a smile. And what a hectic four months it had been. She’d been new at the SRU when Sarge’s niece Alanna had been kidnapped; not to mention all the hot calls since then.

“Uh, look, do you know if anyone is using the briefing room in the next little while?” Rangford queried.

Kira considered a moment, going over the schedules in her head. “Mmm, I don’t think so. Team Three’s gone off shift. Team One’s out.”

Rangford nodded once. “Good. I just want to get a few things in order. Is it okay if I use the room?”

“Go ahead,” Kira replied, her attention turning to the ringing phone.

With a shift to a standing position, Rangford added, “I’m just gonna have a walkabout first. Is that okay?”

Distracted, Kira offered him a “Mm-hmm” before turning to her call. “Strategic Response Unit. Okay.”

* * * * *

Two extremely bored teens sat in the briefing room. They’d asked Troy, Team Three’s sergeant, if they could use the room after Team One had left for the potential bomb call. Alanna was reading _Black Beauty_ and her brother had brought along his beloved Nintendo DS and was playing _Golden Sun: The Lost Age_ on it. Their cooling charms were wearing a bit thin in the heat of the room, but the pair were still enjoying much cooler temperatures than anyone else in the station. Although usually they had to haul their summer work in, today they were free to do as they pleased, mostly because their uncle had, correctly, surmised that their cooling charms were unlikely to last the entire day. After an earlier squabbling match, the two siblings were studiously ignoring each other and sitting on opposite sides of the table. As neither teen could be seen from the doorway and their uncle had forgotten to alert Kira to their presence, only Troy knew they were there.

The pair was also oblivious to the note that Danny Rangford slipped into Ed Lane’s locker before he headed back to Kira’s desk.

* * * * *

Team One arrived at the train station with the blare and wail of police sirens. Near the entrance to the terminal a black rolling suitcase sat, abandoned and alone. It was plain and unmarked, a simple bag with plastic sides and metal hinges. Team One dismounted from their loyal trucks, surveying the scene. Greg Parker closed his door and moved to meet the Inspector approaching from the grassy knoll.

“Morning, Sergeant,” the Inspector greeted.

“Inspector Stainton, what’s the word?” Greg asked. Stainton was a few centimeters taller than the Sergeant, with dark blond hair and a graying beard. Team One had worked with the serious man before, the most recent of which had been the shooting in First York Plaza. Though Stainton was a very by-the-book man, he had, at the time, been willing to relent enough for Greg to talk to Eddie right after the Scorpio shot.

Grim, Stainton replied, “We’re not liking this. There’s been a spike in terrorist chat last two weeks.”

Greg nodded his agreement with the man’s line of thought. “Station sees over 200,000 commuters a day. I say that’s ‘hotspot’ written all over it.”

Ed began to reel off orders as Greg made a few notes in his notebook. “Sam, north containment.” Sam jogged off at once. “Lewis, west. Wordy, east.” The two disappeared as Ed continued, “Spike, do your thing. Jules, second the boss.” The last two veered off, while Ed remained with his boss.

“Stay connected,” Greg ordered. “We’re gonna need everyone’s brain on this one. Let’s get to know our friend.” His gaze returned to the unassuming suitcase.


	3. Files and Profiles

Kira was working on the information Jules had asked her to find when Danny Rangford returned from his walkabout. “Kira, can I trouble you a sec?” he asked.

“Mm-hmm,” she confirmed, gaze still on her screen.

“There’s a, uh, file I’ve been meaning to look at.”

“A file?”

Rangford leaned against the counter as he continued, “Yeah, it’s number 5512. You’ll find it under Team Four, 1989.”

“Okay,” Kira agreed. “What’s this in regard to?” As she spoke, she keyed the information into her computer.

Nonchalant, he replied, “Uh, just getting a presentation together. You know, old boys on the lecture circuit.” Kira chuckled at his comment. “Uh, it’s probably not on a computer,” he informed her as she turned to another screen. “Uh, look, if it’s any trouble, I can always go down to the archives myself.”

Kira shook her head, waving her hand in the negative. “Oh, no, no, no, it’s no trouble. I just need to clear it with Commander Holleran.”

Tension abruptly spiked the air and Rangford asked, “Uh, what do you need to do that for?”

Kira kept her voice calm as she spoke. “Oh, I just can’t release files without permission.” She shrugged at Rangford. “It’s policy.”

“Uh, well, well, it’s not like it’s a breach of, uh, anyone’s privacy. I-I mean, it was a case of my own. I was there.”   Rangford moved from his initial position near the walkway to the locker rooms around the corner to the part of the counter facing the atrium as he spoke. His voice was charming, but there was a slight edge of…something in it.

“Sorry,” Kira apologized, still smiling. “Officially, you’re a civilian now, so…”

As she reached for the phone, Rangford put his hand down in a stilling motion. “No. You don’t need to do that,” he told her firmly. She paused, studying him as he looked over his shoulder and gave a brief sigh. “Look, uh, the old days, one of us at the desk…we’d have looked the other way,” he confided in her with a wink and a smile. “Huh?”

Kira’s smile was getting a little forced at Rangford’s insistence. She was a good cop, she wasn’t going to be part of the ‘old boys club’, at least not like _that_. “Well, I’m sure Commander Holleran…”

Rangford’s smile vanished and his voice went unexpectedly hard. “You’re not hearing me. I didn’t come this far…” He looked around again, clearly coming to a decision. Then he dropped the bag off his shoulder and came around her desk with an order of, “Stay quiet.”

Kira’s sense of things going sideways blared an internal alarm. “But I can just…” she protested.

“Mmm. Just stay quiet,” he ordered again as he unzipped his jacket the rest of the way. “And look down, hmm?” Kira’s gaze trailed down and she saw what he had. “I need that file. Do you understand?”

Kira met Rangford’s eyes. “Yep,” she confirmed, all argument gone. Rangford had a gun under his jacket.

* * * * *

In the briefing room, both teens straightened a bit as their magic tingled in warning. “ ‘Lanna? You feel that?” Lance asked, lowering his DS.

Alanna looked up from her book. She might have sniped at her brother for using a nickname she half-liked, half-hated, but, “Yeah, I feel it.” She looked around, trying to find what their magic had focused on. “Probably something up with the team,” she offered.

“Yeah…probably,” her brother agreed. Inside though, he was nervous. Whatever was wrong had felt a whole lot closer than wherever their uncle was.

* * * * *

Spike opened up the back door of the truck carrying his beloved robotic partner-in-crime. “Let’s go, darling,” he told the steel explosives-disposal robot. He worked the controls and the robot started forward, its tank-like treads carrying it out of the vehicle and onto the scene.

Nearby, in the command truck, Jules started the transcript with, “10:36 AM: suspicious suitcase. Constable Scarlatti initiating electronic countermeasures.”

The steel robot proceeded down the concrete sidewalk, moving steadily toward the black suitcase sitting on the apron near the terminal doors.

* * * * *

Danny followed his impromptu captive toward the archives. “I’ll wait here. You go on and get the file. Fast is good,” he instructed her. With a sigh, he turned to the woman before she could open the door. “Wait. I’ll take that,” he remarked, pointing toward her phone. As he took the phone, he gave her a clipped, “Sorry.” The dispatcher didn’t deign to give him a response as she waved her access card over the door’s electronic lock and entered the archive room. Danny panted a bit as he looked back along the corridor and then over his shoulder at a plaque mounted on the wall. He jerked his gaze away from the plaque and settled in to wait. He _needed_ that file.

* * * * *

Greg frowned thoughtfully as Spike’s pet robot Babycakes moved toward the possible bomb. Turning just a bit toward Ed, he started thinking out loud. On Ed’s other side, Inspector Stainton listened to the pair converse. “Okay, know the subject, anticipate the weapon, target the solution. What kind of person plants a bomb in a public place?”

Ed’s response was immediate, “Organized personality, not impulsive, not mentally incompetent.”

“Emotionally detached, above average intelligence,” Greg followed up.

“Access to volatile material and familiar with its use.”

“Yeah, and who wants to strike the city’s transportation hub,” Greg concluded.

“Or just doesn’t like tourists,” Ed quipped.

Greg allowed the ghost of a smile in response to the quip. “Okay, everyone, eyes and ears open. We may be dealing with an individual who likes to hang around and watch the carnage.” The Sergeant looked over his shoulder at the bystanders gawking behind the police tape, scanning for their potential bomber.

* * * * *

Kira exited the archive room, file in hand. Rangford snatched the file away, stuffing it in his shoulder bag. Turning back toward her, he announced, “Wasn’t supposed to go this way, you know?” He gestured for her to start walking and the two moved up the walkway back toward her desk. Rangford continued, “Wasn’t supposed to go this way. Could have just given it to me. All I needed to do was go in the briefing room, get a little work done, undisturbed.” He tugged her back as she tried to walk fast and get away.

Kira kept her thoughts on _that_ to herself and said calmly, “I’ll make sure you’re not interrupted.”

His sarcasm fairly reeked in his voice as he retorted, “Uh-huh.” His tone turned a bit condescending and sneering. “Well, maybe you’re not trained for this at your desk, but where I came from, we’re trained to profile people, and here’s what I get from you: you’re ambitious; you’re serious about your job; you don’t want to be passive, be perceived as the victim. So here’s what you’ll do: I walk into that briefing room, you’ll sound the alarm first chance you get. I try walking out of here, same problem. Man with a gun making unorthodox demands. You see my dilemmas?” By this time, they had arrived back near her desk and Troy, the Team Three Sergeant approached. “Smile,” Rangford hissed.

Kira obeyed, determined not to allow anyone else to get caught in Rangford’s path. “Hey, Kira,” Troy called. “Any word on the air-conditioning?” He was a bit taller than Rangford, with buzzcutted black hair, a ready smile, and intelligent brown eyes. His build was a mix of solid and lean; his eyes lit up as he recognized Rangford.

“Tomorrow,” Kira promised him, praying he would go away before anything happened.

He did not respond to her silent plea as his attention shifted to her captor. “Sergeant Rangford?”

“Troy,” Rangford burst out, delighted and back to the charmer who had first approached Kira. Kira maneuvered behind her desk, hoping to get to the communication equipment.

“You hear I made Sergeant?” Troy asked. “Team Three.” Both men chuckled as Rangford took in the news and nodded to Troy. “So you haunting the old barn?”

“Yeah,” Rangford confirmed, nodding to the other man. With another smile, Troy moved away and Rangford’s attention snapped back around to Kira. “Sit down,” he ordered, going cold again. “Sit. Sit.” Kira sat, wishing she could have somehow alerted Troy.

* * * * *

Babycakes rolled the last few centimeters to the suspect bomb, lowering its arm to give its operator a better look at the case. “Okay,” Spike announced, “confirming no visible identification. Babycakes is sending out a signal blocking remote detonators. Going to start with the infrared.” Spike studied the readouts a moment. “Good news so far. Nothing unusual in the heat patterns. Going to try chemical detection for any nerve agents, blood agents.”

Stainton keyed his radio with a, “Sergeant.”

Greg snagged the handheld radio and replied, “Inspector, anything good?”

Stainton’s tone was worried. “Some of the people that reported the case said they smelled hay nearby.”

Greg shrugged, “So? Hay?”

Stainton was clearly driving at something as he elaborated. “ ‘Moist hay.’ One woman said she smelled freshly cut grass.”

Greg gave the radio a blank look, not getting it. “Stainton, so what are you saying? That someone stuffed the case with hay?”

Spike interrupted, his voice full of dread. “Boss. Hay and grass aren’t the only things that smell like hay and grass.” Without waiting for a response, he continued, “Those people that smelled hay and grass? Track them down, they gotta be put under medical observation immediately. No physical exertion or it’ll accelerate the spread.”

_Spread?_ “Spike, what do you think it is?”

The reply was decisive. “Phosgene. It could be phosgene. By the time you smell it, it’s already at its lethal level.”

* * * * *

Kira glared at Rangford, but stopped, her gaze shifting to the new arrival, as Troy came back over to Rangford, offering him a cold water bottle. “So, Daniel. You and Michelle finally gonna take that round-the-world trip she kept asking for?”

Rangford took the water bottle, cracking it open and drinking from it with a brief toast to Troy. “Well…well, maybe.”

Troy wiped the sweat off his forehead with a casual, “Little hot in that?” His eyes were focused on the black jacket Rangford was still wearing. Behind the desk, Kira tensed.

To Kira’s utter disbelief, Rangford nodded at Troy. “Mmm. Yeah.” He reached down, opening his jacket again. Kira saw Troy spot the gun, saw him tense and snap to attention in response. Rangford froze for a split second, realizing what he’d done and pulled his hands away from the zipper. “You know what? No, I’m-I’m good. I’m good.”

Troy wasn’t about to back off after spotting the gun. Meeting Rangford eyes with a serious expression, he asked, “Anything I can help you with there, Daniel?”

“I’m fine, Troy. I’m really fine,” Rangford soothed. Kira’s eyes meet Troy’s and she gave a subtle shake of her head. No, Rangford was _not_ fine. “I just want to be left alone, okay?”

Troy ignored the attempt to get him to walk away. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Rangford took that in, giving a slight nod. Then he reached down and pulled his weapon, aiming it at Team Three’s Sergeant. “Stand down,” Rangford ordered, moving toward the open briefing room. “Stay back.”

Nearby, the remaining members of Team Three abandoned their workout at the sight of their Sergeant at gunpoint. One of them called out, “Hey, Sergeant?”

Troy kept his voice calm and his hands spread. “Keep it cool, guys. Everything is okay.” As he spoke, Rangford maneuvered himself around Troy and ended up with his back to the briefing room, gun still aimed at Troy.

Rangford’s voice was calm, but an edge of desperation had joined his tone. “Okay, Troy. You’re going to keep your boys at a distance.”

“Sure. Sure, Daniel.”

“You know how this works, boys.” Rangford backed toward the briefing room as he spoke.

Kira grabbed her headset and keyed the mike without putting the headset back on or speaking. Static rang through the line. Even without her headset on, she could hear Jules’ voice through the earphones. She keyed the line again, determined to get Team One’s attention.

Rangford’s expression was trapped, even with a gun in his hands. Sweat dripped down his face, which was turning rather red. “This is not the way it was supposed to happen, you know.” He let out a bitter chuckle at that. “Never is, right?”

“No,” Troy agreed.

“Look at me. I’m the subject.”

Troy’s tone, so matter-of-fact, turned a touch pleading. “You don’t have to be, Daniel. We can work this out.”

Kira’s fingers flew on the keyboard, though her headset was still off. As she typed, she heard Rangford’s, “Sorry, Troy.”

On a distant screen her message appeared to two concerned Team One members.  
Team One Hot Call…  
Immediate priority immediate  
Immediate at SRU.

“Kira?” Greg Parker called on the radio, “Kira, you copy?” His eyes flashed over the message, worry rising at once. “Jules, you’re in charge,” he ordered. The _kids_ were at the station.

“All right,” Jules confirmed.

“Lean on Stainton if you need to,” Greg called back as he grabbed his things and slid out of the truck. “Eddie, we got a priority call. I need you, Sam, and Wordy to come with me. Lewis, you cover Spike. Jules, let’s get extra uniforms and detectives.”

“Copy that. I’m on it.”

Greg’s voice dropped a bit as he reached Ed. “Ed, the priority call…it’s at the station.” Both men traded grim looks; then they turned and leapt into the truck.


	4. Trapped at Threat Level Red

Troy suppressed a swallow as Danny kept backing up toward the briefing room. Sergeant Parker was going to kill him, but there was absolutely nothing he could do now to keep Parker’s _nipotes_ out of the line of fire. Trying to divert Danny from the briefing room wasn’t likely to work, but he had to try _something_. “Why don’t you tell me what’s…” he tried.

“Don’t…” Danny spat, “negotiate me. Now, I’m gonna go in here. I’m going to shut the door. I’m barricading myself in. You understand what that means, don’t you, Troy?”

Troy kept his face as blank as possible. The only way he could see for the kids to get out of this was to avoid Danny’s notice, but how they would do that…he hadn’t the foggiest. Nor could he warn them, as warning _them_ would tip Danny off to the fact that the kids _were_ in the briefing room. “I do,” he confirmed.

“And you’re going to leave me to my own devices. Otherwise, the situation is going to get dangerous. You know that, right?” Danny’s voice was that of a teacher with his student, as if he _wasn’t_ pointing a loaded gun at Troy.

“Right.”

“I want you to consider me a threat level red. You got that?”

“I got it, boss,” Troy reassured the desperate man.

“I’m going to stop talking now. Threat level red. Can you say that for me?”

“Threat level red,” Troy parroted obediently.

Inside the briefing room now, Danny lowered his gun, panting. “That’s good,” he praised, reaching out to the briefing room’s controls. “Doing a good job, Troy.” With that, he triggered the room’s controls. The blue, opaque panels swiveled closed at once with a mechanical thud and the steel barrier slammed down. The slam was almost ominous in Troy’s ears.

* * * * *

Lance’s head jerked up as his magic sparked at him in warning. The threat from before was back and even more intense than it had been before. Wary, he closed his DS and slid it into his pocket. With footsteps as quiet as he could make them, he moved over to the door, peeking out.

His timing was either perfect or atrocious as he saw Mister Rangford pull a gun on Troy. Blue eyes widened as Mister Rangford moved forward, clearly angling for the briefing room. The teen skittered away from the door before he could be seen and ran to Alanna. Alanna had already put her book down and Lance snatched it up and grabbed ‘Lanna’s wrist, dragging them both to the corner desk. He surveyed it a moment, realizing there was _no way_ they could expect to hide under the desk and _not_ be seen. Lance gulped, it would have to be Disillusionment Charms.

Turning to Alanna, he pulled his wand, tapped his sister on the head, and hissed, “ _Opscurio_ **(1)**.” As the auburn witch faded from sight, he cast the same spell on himself and also added a hasty “ _Refrigerio_ **(2)**,” flicking his wand so the one charm hit both of them. If they were going to have to use magic _anyway_ , he might as well refresh their cooling charms. It might be awhile before they got out of here.

The two squeezed into the corner, Alanna taking her book back and sliding it under the desk they were hiding next to. The pair held their breath as Mister Rangford halted just past the doorway to the briefing room. To their mutual horror and terror, he tapped the controls, sealing the room with both siblings inside. Lance and Alanna traded dismayed looks as best they could. They were trapped.

* * * * *

Kira’s voice finally came back on the team’s radio with an utterly grim report. “It’s Daniel Rangford. He’s armed, and he’s barricaded himself in the briefing room.”

Team One arrived in the garage and Greg almost threw himself at the door to the station. As he came in, Troy approached from the opposite direction, a bullet-proof vest on over his workout clothes. His eyes were as grim as Kira’s report and held shadows that gave Greg a chill of foreboding. “Boss.”

“Talk,” Greg ordered.

“He’s got a Beretta, .40 cal,” Troy reported. Then he winced and dropped his gaze. “The kids are in there.”

“ _What?!?_ ” Greg demanded sharply. “ _How?_ ” Ed’s eyes went wide with dismay at the news.

Troy cringed. “They asked me if they could wait in the briefing room after you guys had to leave for that bomb call so quickly. I told them they could,” he shrugged helplessly. “Shouldn’t have been a problem, but apparently Kira didn’t know they were even here, much less in the briefing room. When Danny asked her if he could use the room before things went sideways, she didn’t even hesitate.”

Greg flinched. If he’d told Kira the kids were here today… “So Danny didn’t know they were in there?” he asked.

“As far as we know, no, he didn’t know they were in there. They must have been able to hide too, ‘cause he hasn’t said anything about them.”

Greg and Ed traded worried looks. Behind them, Sam and Wordy traded the same looks. The kids _could_ hide, even in a room with no cover; Greg had made sure they could both use that Disillusionment Charm the Team had learned about from the Auror Division. It had been a precaution in the wake of Alanna’s kidnapping. Greg forced himself to turn back to the issue at hand. “What’s he doing in there?” he asked as the group began to move toward the barricaded briefing room.

Troy filled them in as they moved. “He disabled a security camera. He hasn’t talked since he shut himself in there. Classified himself a threat level red. Negotiated me like I was a rookie.”

Despite the tension and the risk to the kids, Greg couldn’t help but smile and pat the other man’s shoulder. “Are you surprised?”

Ed’s attention was on tactics, as usual. “Can your team cover the entrances?”

“Yeah, we’re all we got, though. Most of my guys already clocked out,” Troy informed them ruefully.

“Yeah, we’re down three. The rest of us are dealing with the bomb threat,” Greg observed. Partial strength with the _kids_ trapped, what a nightmare.

“You want me to call my guys back in?” Troy offered.

“Yes,” Greg replied.

“No,” Ed said, almost overlapping with his boss.

“Eddie?”

“Boss, we keep this in the family. We can handle it.” Ed hesitated, his gaze shifting between Greg and Troy. “Plus, if the kids use the family…tricks…”

Greg reared back, caught off guard by the reminder that the kids probably had and possibly _would_ use their magic to keep themselves safe. The more people who didn’t know about magic involved, the more likely that one or more of those individuals would end the day with either erased memories or a paper transfer to the magical SRU. The former was not an option and the latter would be a logistical nightmare. He gave in. “Okay, Eddie.”

Ed turned to a curious Troy, reeling out orders, “Nobody gets in through the front. Garage access only. I’m assuming he’s closed the blinds, but we still need eyes in, so grab some range finders. Go outside and double-check.”

“Copy that,” Troy acknowledged, turning and heading off.

Ed’s attention swung to Wordy. “Wordy, he’s gonna be looking for the snake, so let’s use the fiber cam.”

“Got it,” Wordy replied. His eyes were subdued, torn between worry for the teens and worry for Danny. He disappeared to retrieve the equipment.

“Auto-transcriptor, boss?” Sam asked.

“We don’t need it,” Ed announced firmly.

Sam backed off with, “Jules has it anyway.”

Greg let out a sigh. It was a risk, but it was also protocol. He did have the authority to restrict the transcript if the kids had to use their magic to get out. “It could just be for us or…”

“Or what, Greg?” Ed hissed, a touch hostile.

Decision made, Greg told his team leader, “We could decide that when this thing is over, okay? All right.” He turned to Sam, ordering, “Let’s use Team Three’s. You set it up, but call his wife first. Her name is Michelle. Let’s figure out what’s been going on at home lately, okay?”

“On it,” Sam acknowledged, hurrying off.

Greg turned back to his team leader. “Okay. I want you to talk to him, okay? None of us can stay objective, but you know him best.”

“Yeah,” Ed murmured softly.

“All right, good.” Greg turned to Kira, saying, “Kira, walk with me.”

Kira followed Team One’s Sergeant down the ramp as Ed Lane’s attention turned toward the room his mentor was in. _God help us._

 

[1] Latin for ‘To hide’

[2] Latin for ‘To cool’


	5. Gryphon and Phoenix

Lance stiffened as Mister Rangford began shoving the tables that formed the briefing room’s larger table apart and toward their side of the room. The chairs slid away as the sweating man pushed the tables. Two of the tables ended up in front of the hidden teens and several rolling chairs finished their slides close enough to partially block line-of-sight to the desk’s underside. Lance was reminded of a game of Sardines he’d played once where he’d hidden under a ping-pong table and never been found. Gently, he tugged Alanna down and the two took cover under the tables, holding their collective breath as Mister Rangford continued shoving tables and muttering to himself. One shoved chair slid backwards and its leg hit Lance’s arm. His hold on the Disillusionment Charms slipped and both teens reappeared. Fortunately, between the sheltering desks, the black rolling chairs, and Mister Rangford’s distraction, neither teen was spotted. They traded grateful looks and settled back as much as they could, watching the red-faced adult mutter to himself and set out pictures from his black shoulder bag.

* * * * *

Spike hopped out of the truck, carrying the scanner attachment for Babycakes. As he moved around his robot and set the scanner in place, Lou asked, “So, what do we know about phosgene?”

His tone business-like and his hands in motion, Spike replied, “It’s not hard to make, and it’s nasty. Could take 24 hours to show symptoms, so your victims don’t even know they’ve been exposed until their lungs stop working.”

In the command truck, Jules was equally on task. “Okay, well, Stainton’s on top of the med reports. I’ll tell him to alert his units for a potential chemical evac order. Maybe we need to block incoming trains as well. Anything else?”

“Get him to broaden the perimeter,” Spike ordered, “especially downwind.”

“Got it,” Jules confirmed.

Spike’s attention turned back to his beloved robot. “Okay, Babycakes. Let’s take a look inside.” His hands danced across the controls and Babycakes rolled forward again, returning to the possible bomb down range.

* * * * *

Ed Lane stood beside the briefing room’s blue ploy-carb panels, voice raised so that he could be heard by the man inside. “Danny? What’s this I’m hearing about you being in there with a gun, huh? Telling Troy it’s threat level red?” He paused to knock on the steel barrier, trying to get his mentor’s attention. “Danny, come on. Last time we talked, threat level red was code for ‘there’s a wife in the station.’ ” He stopped again, listening for a reply. All he heard was Wordy, pulling the fiber-optic cam from its bag. “It’s just me out here, Danny. It’s Eddie.” And still, there was no response.

* * * * *

Greg studied his dispatcher, grateful she had come out from her encounter unscathed. “Kira, what happened? He seemed fine when we left. I mean, how did he seem to you?”

“Calm at first,” Kira replied. She paused, “Well, sweating a lot.”

“Yeah, well, we all are, right?” Greg remarked with a brief smile.

“But…” Kira considered. “Steady eye contact, relaxed posture, chatty. Then, when I wouldn’t get the file for him, he came off the rails like that wasn’t the plan.”

“What do you think the plan was?”

“Didn’t add up: getting the file, preparing a presentation in the briefing room. He wanted privacy,” Kira concluded.

“Think he wanted to leave the station with that file?” Greg pressed.

Kira shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“And he didn’t want Holleran alerted, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Remember anything about the file?” If that file had been Danny’s objective, it was likely the key to helping Danny and getting his _nipotes_ out safely.

“Uh…name in it was Gehring, 1989.”

_Darn it._ “ ‘89, so there’s no computer backup. Anything about that case?”

Kira considered, but shook her head. “Just that it was his. Sorry.”

Greg was quick to reassure her. “No, no, you did everything right, Kira.” He moved past her, adding, “Thank you. You can go home. You’re free to do that.”

Kira turned, her voice indignant. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere. I’m a cop, too. And the kids are in there.”

Greg turned back to her and gave her a nod. “Okay. Put on a vest and radio. Call Harvey Silver. His name and number is on file. He was on Daniel’s team. They retired the same year. Tell him we need him here sooner than ASAP.” Done, he turned and asked, “Eddie, how’s our friend?”

* * * * *

Frustrated, Ed reported, “He’s not talking.”

From the floor, Wordy hissed, “I got eyes in.” Ed immediately crouched down, examining the view. On the opposite side of the room, the pair got a glimpse of the hidden teens before footsteps sounded. Danny strode to the camera, kneeling down and a tearing sound came from the opposite side of the wall. The next thing both officers knew, the camera’s view had been cut off.

“Fiber optic neutralized,” Ed grumbled. “Troy, you got eyes outside?”

Troy’s report was not encouraging. “He’s moving. Looks like he’s closing the shutters.”

Ed backed away from the panels a bit, trading looks with Wordy. “Boss,” he whispered, “we saw the kids. Looks like they managed to hide; Danny hasn’t found them.”

“If he looks, though,” worry leaked through Wordy’s voice and Ed had to agree. As hiding places went, under the table wasn’t a very good one. “Want to try the ball cam?” Wordy asked.

“He’s gonna be looking for that,” Ed replied. “Let’s get thermals.”

“Okay,” Wordy agreed. “I got it right here.” He moved back to the black bag the fiber optic cam had been in and dug through it for the thermal scanner.

Ed walked to the steel barrier, raising his voice again. “Danny? You sticky my fiber-optic camera?” With a nod to himself, he added, “Nice job. What did you use, duck tape? Forgot how much you liked it low-tech.”

Wordy ducked by, giving Ed the electronic screen that hooked into the thermal scanner and positioning himself by a more central panel to scan the room with the large, flashlight-like device.

Ed kept going, “Remember that corner store barricade? Danny, day like today, hotter than heck.” He grimaced a little, having toned down his language for the underage kids hidden inside. Hopefully Danny wouldn’t catch on to why he’d done that. “You remember that? You had me talk to those kids for an hour and a half, Danny. Then, you came in. Turned up the heat. Twenty minutes later, they came running out. That was low-tech all the way.” Pity they couldn’t use a similar solution today, but it was out of the question with the kids on the line.

But Ed did get his wish as Danny finally responded, “Thought you were on a bomb call, Ed.”

“We’re on it,” Ed replied. “Just came back here to see what was going on. I’m not here to negotiate you, Danny. I just want to help you figure it out. All you’ve done for me over the years. Come on.” Not to mention all the good those kids had done for his far-too-lonely boss.

“Go back to your bomb call,” Danny yelled.

Deliberately, Ed used the name of the tech who’d been on their team back when he’d been under Danny. “Frank’s on it, Danny. You know the bomb guys.”

“You know what’s good for you, you stay out of here,” Danny snapped.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Ed snapped back. “I’m gonna stay right here as long as it takes.” He wasn’t giving up on Danny _or_ those kids. “Danny, what are you saying to me? How long?”

There was the sound of a bottle opening in the room and Danny’s voice came back. “Oh, uh…about fourteen more ounces.” _Wonderful…he’s drinking in there. In front of the_ kids _._

* * * * *

At Kira’s desk, Sam spoke into Team Three’s auto-transcriber. “11:27 AM. Barricaded subject, Daniel Rangford.” Turning from the microphone, he asked, “Boss, how do you want me to characterize the subject?”

In a dry tone, Boss replied, “Barricaded. Leave it at that. You talk to his wife?”

Sam’s tone turned unhappy. “Yes, I called her. I told her her husband was at the station, and she got really upset; she hung up on me.”

* * * * *

Inside the room, two frightened teenagers huddled together under the desks, watching as their, so far unknowing, captor laid out pictures, newspaper clippings, and a bottle of alcohol. As their uncle did not drink and they themselves were underage, they did not recognize the alcohol as scotch. The gun lay next to the scotch, seemingly forgotten for the moment, but neither teen dared make a move for fear of being seen. They traded looks at the ‘fourteen ounces’ remark, feeling as though that deadline was not something they wanted to reach…ever.

Abruptly, Mister Rangford snatched up the gun, aiming it at the wall with a growl of, “It’s all you.” Reflexively, both teens followed his line-of-sight. There was no one there.

Mister Rangford didn’t seem to realize he was aiming at thin air. “Put your weapon down…now!” At the yell, the teens both jerked, fear rising. Alanna let out a muffled whimper, her brother’s hand over her mouth.

A gunshot rang out; Alanna lost control of her magic. Violet light curled around her and her brother was forced to move out of the way. Arms melted into wings that spread out under the table. The teenager’s body and head compressed into a bird’s torso and head; legs shrank down into bird legs and claws. A sweeping tail stuck out behind the desk, in a beautiful display of flight-ready tail feathers. Had the phoenix been in the light, her indigo body and tail feathers, accented by a lighter hue of violet on body and head with spots of the lighter hue speckled on her wings would have been stunning. On the bird’s head, an indigo crest flared just a bit in indignation at the fact that Lance had switched his hand over his sister’s mouth to a grip on her beak to keep her from making any noise.

“On the ground,” Mister Rangford ordered the empty air. Boy and phoenix crouched down further in their hiding place.

“Danny!” Uncle Ed yelled from outside the room, trying to get Mister Rangford’s attention.

“On the ground!” Mister Rangford roared, not paying any attention to Uncle Ed.

“Danny, our weapons are not raised. We are not here to hurt you,” Uncle Ed called, trying to get through to the deranged man. A soft phoenix whimper came from the teens’ hiding place and Lance had covered his head, trembling.

Two more gunshots rang out and it was the phoenix’s turn to scramble back. Gold swept over the boy teen, leaving wings in its wake. Arms blurred into lion legs and ended in sharp eagle claws. The brown-haired head shifted into an eagle’s, just as brown with a hooked predator’s beak, though he had ears that were swept back, furry, and tufted. The beak was a pale yellow and the large predator’s eyes were just as blue as the boy’s human eyes. Lance’s torso shifted, his upper back becoming feathered, like an eagle, and his chest and lower back sprouting fur. His legs became that of a lion’s, though slim and aerodynamic, with the typically large paws of the king of beasts. A lion’s tail appeared and curled out from under the table. Starting roughly two-thirds down the tail, tail feathers adorned the sides and tip, flexing outward casually. The eagle half was the same shade of brown as the boy’s hair with each feather carefully in place. The feathers at the front of the wings were even a shade darker than Lance’s hair, so dark as to almost be black. The lion fur was a dark tan, lighter than the feathers while still a rich brown hue. His belly and underside of the chin were an even lighter shade of tan, just as a regular lion would be. The tail feathers were the same shade as the eagle feathers, with a black hue at their core, closest to the tail.

Neither animal was full grown, a fortunate thing since a full-grown gryphon stood even taller than a lion, with a wingspan over twice as long as its body. Even so, the space under the protecting desks was suddenly at quite a premium, with both animals struggling to have enough room without being spotted.

In the center of the room, Mister Rangford was oblivious to his mythical company, trapped in flashbacks and memory.

* * * * *

Wordy felt his jaw drop and his eyes felt like they’d just gotten bigger than dinner plates. “Ed,” he hissed. “You see this?”

‘This’ was Alanna…or rather where she had _been_. At the first gunshot, her heat signature had _warped_ , becoming something else entirely. Whatever it was, it was _hot_ , her heat color had gone from a mix of reds and blues to _white_ , something he’d almost never seen on their thermal scanner before. He squinted, trying to tell what she looked like; he was very sure she didn’t look human at the moment. Maybe it was just him, but he didn’t think humans had what looked suspiciously like _wings_ …or that humans could become smaller on demand. There was a low whistle from Ed and Sarge’s direction, as they took in the sudden change. Wordy shivered, moving his scanner back to Danny. He wanted the kids out of there… _yesterday_.

Ed yelled, trying to get Danny’s attention, but it didn’t work as the other man continued to shout orders at thin air. Two more shots rang out and Wordy couldn’t help himself. He moved the scanner back to the kids and felt more than heard his own gasp. Lance had changed too, becoming something that was much larger than the teen was. Even with just the thermals, Wordy could see, roughly, what the teenager had become. It looked like some kind of large cat creature, though there was something _off_ about the cat creature. There was a thin bluish red line stretching out from the animal’s shoulders, looking as if it was part of the animal, but Wordy didn’t know what it was. How both animals went unnoticed, Wordy didn’t know and he could only pray Danny didn’t spot them. With Danny’s current state of mind, it wouldn’t end well.

“Okay,” Sarge said grimly, “Team One only on thermals.” Ed and Wordy nodded in agreement. “He’s shooting at somebody who’s not there.”

“Is it hallucination?” Wordy asked.

“Yeah, maybe flashbacks or something.”

All three men looked back at the sudden commotion behind them. Sarge headed off, to deal with the latest crisis and Wordy looked back at the thermals he had of the kids. _Why do I get the feeling this is more of their family magic?_


	6. Blame and Memories

“Where’s Daniel? I want to see him. Where is he?” The woman who’d arrived was Daniel’s age, worn down with worry and tension, her normal beauty dimmed with the stress no one had even known she was going through. Blonde hair hung to her chin, limp and unstyled; her light brown eyes were dull and filled with fear for her husband. At the moment, her voice and body were tense and full of anger and indignation; that she held the officers in contempt was immediately apparent as she attempted to run Sam down when he tried to stop her.

“Ma’am,” Sam tried as he physically blocked her from going farther.

“You let me see him now,” the hysterical woman demanded, shoving against the constable.

“Ma’am, please,” Sam tried again, grabbing hold of her to gently force her away from the briefing room; an operation she was having no part of. Kira hurried over to help Sam.

Behind them, Greg approached, his expression a thundercloud. “What the heck is going on, guys? No one through the front.”

Busy with the blonde spitfire, Sam told her, “Ma’am, you cannot go in there.”

By now Greg was close enough to identify the woman and he quickly called Sam off. “Sam, Sam, it’s okay.” He moved to the woman, “Michelle.”

“I want to see him. Where is he?” Michelle demanded, her expression hostile.

Greg gestured down the corridor, saying, “We can talk about it over here.”

Michelle, though, had had it with delays and stalling. “I want to see him; tell me. Where is he? I want to see him.” She didn’t seem to realize Greg was managing to edge her backwards by moving toward her; as he moved, she backed up to have room.

His voice still gentle, Greg told her, “Let’s just walk over here.”

Angry, desperate, and hurting Michelle struck out at the Sergeant, hitting him in the chest with both hands, crying, “You monster, you monster.”

Greg ignored the physical assault, letting the hurting woman expend her helpless fury on him. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” he soothed.

“It’s your fault!” Michelle accused, still hitting at her close, available target.

“Calm…just calm down,” Greg kept soothing.

“You did this to him, all of you!” Michelle screeched, “You monster!”

Greg hugged the woman, keeping his grip as she made futile, abortive, struggles to get loose. “Just calm down. It’s okay. It’s okay.” Michelle stopped, panting, her fury, for the moment, spent. She gasped for air as Greg waved Kira over. “Just go with Kira and we’ll find you a place to sit down, okay?” He leaned closer to her, his voice turning intense. “And I promise I will come to you as soon as I can, okay?”

Kira didn’t wait for Michelle to accept; instead she put her arm around Michelle and guided her away. “Michelle, let’s sit down. It’s gonna be okay.”

Greg watched the two women move away; they were all hurting today. He prayed that it _would_ be okay…somehow.

* * * * *

Ed’s eyes narrowed at the image on the thermal scanner. Whatever Danny was doing, they needed to do something or things were going to get worse; sooner rather than later. As Greg returned from dealing with Michelle, Wordy called, “Boss. Take a look.”

While Greg looked at the screen in Ed’s hands, Ed made his decision. “All right, that’s enough. I’m gonna open it up.”

Wordy protested, “He said he was gonna fire.” He did have a point, the last thing the kids needed was a front-row seat to a shoot-out…no, that was the second-to-last. The last thing was the thing Ed was desperate to prevent.

“You want to spend the rest of your life thinking about what we should have done, Wordy, huh?” Ed demanded, a bite to his words.

Understanding, Greg nodded, placing his hand on his sidearm. “Okay. Wordy, cover.” Over his shoulder he called, “Sam, we’re opening up.”

Wordy raced over to a shield, setting the thermal scanner down and hefting the shield with both hands. He hustled back, getting into position in front of Ed and Greg. Greg’s weapon was in his hands and he brought it up, standing to Wordy’s right with his weapon aimed and poking out from behind the shield. Ed stood behind his boss, covered by his teammates. As the designated negotiator, he would be the last to draw his gun and then only if needed. With Wordy and Greg ready, Ed reached out and triggered the steel barrier; it rose out of the way smoothly, revealing Danny Rangford in the center of the room. Papers were spread in a circle around him, his scotch bottle and bag were to his left and his gun was in his hand. As soon as Danny saw them, he lifted the gun and pointed it at his own head.

“I told you not to come in!”

Ed swallowed at the sight of his mentor, apparently ready, willing, and able to commit suicide. “Let’s slow this down, Danny.”

“Close the door!” Danny ordered.

Grim, determined, Ed replied, “I’m not gonna be able to do that, Dan.”

Danny’s voice dropped, threat clear. “One step closer, we’re done.”

“Okay,” Ed gave in. In front of him, Greg was keeping his gaze and weapon pointed at Danny, but Wordy, behind the shield, was looking to Danny’s left, under the tables scattered in the corner. Judging by the fact that Ed could see his best friend’s eyes all but bugging out, whatever the kids had done _this_ time was a doozy. Wordy was, after the Boss, the most comfortable with magic. Though Ed wanted to look, he dared not; not with Danny so obviously on the edge.

His voice a mix of sneer, threat, and a hint of desperation, Danny hissed, “Let the subject set the pace, huh? Don’t rush a negotiation. ‘Cause I’m not finished here. And I’m going to get this thing right. Okay, Eddie?”

“Okay,” Ed repeated.

“Back off,” Danny growled. Having said that, Danny returned to his papers, though his gun remained at the ready in his left hand.

“Boss?” Ed asked, dropping his volume down.

“I’ll go talk to Michelle,” Greg replied. “I think he’s slowing up, so let’s just keep him on his timetable, okay?”

“Okay,” Ed agreed. As the boss slipped away, Ed took his chance to lean forward just a bit and follow Wordy’s near gape at the kids. The tall sniper’s jaw almost dropped. Hidden under two desks and behind two, maybe three rolling chairs were two animals. He couldn’t see very clearly, but one was purple and indigo, while the other looked brown. Even with a bad angle and the blocking chairs, Ed was sure neither animal was a, well… _regular_ …animal. Keeping his voice as low as he could, he hissed at Wordy, “When this is over, I want pictures.”

Wordy gave a subtle nod of agreement, hissing back, “And lots of ‘em.”

* * * * *

Sam darted down the stairs, reporting, “He’s arriving now.” He strode to the newcomer, hand extended. “Harvey, I’m Sam, Team One.”

With a plaid shirt and a receding hairline, Harvey Silver didn’t look, at first blush, like a former SRU member. But despite the year’s retirement, Harvey was still fit-and-trim, with short gray hair and brown eyes that missed little; intelligence shone from their depths. The handshake he gave Sam was quick and firm; the man himself getting down to business with a brisk, “Where is he? I want to see him.”

Sam restrained his grimace, saying only, “That’s not gonna happen.”

Frustrated the other man protested, “I got to talk to him. He’ll listen to me.”

“Harvey, this isn’t a good idea,” Sam insisted, shifting so he could physically block the older man if necessary.

“This is, this is garbage,” Harvey hissed. “I can’t just stand here.”

With a placating motion, Sam informed him, “Harvey, there’s not a guy here who feels different, but we just need to streamline the inputs a little, okay? Ed Lane is with him now.”

Harvey paused, thinking. “Eddie’s with him?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Harvey gave in.

“Okay?” Sam pressed a moment. With no time to lose, he moved on, “Good, we need your help. We need you to remember everything you can about the Gehring incident in 1989.” As Sam spoke, he guided the older man into the locker room. Time to get some answers.

* * * * *

Babycakes rolled back to the lonely suitcase, lowering the scanner its master had installed into place. On the other end, Spike examined what the scanner had picked up from the case’s internals. “This is not good,” he told Lou. “We got a possible IED. Batteries, wire, pipe.”

Lou studied the picture over his shorter teammate’s shoulder. “Is that shrapnel?”

“It could be; it’s not nails or ball bearings…some kind of small objects, though. This thing could be on a timer. It could be motion-sensitive, so we’re not taking it anywhere.” As he spoke, he maneuvered Babycakes away from the case, bringing it back in for one last equipment change.

From the command truck, Jules inquired, “We detonate it here in the square?”

“Negative. Detonating will only release more gas. We do a render-safe with the water cannon.”

Understanding now, Jules nodded as she spoke. “Okay. We got to disrupt the mechanism.”

“And turn the phosgene into hydrochloric acid,” Spike finished.

* * * * *

Kira stood next to Michelle, one hand on the older woman’s shoulder. Michelle had calmed down a bit, but she was still tense and unhappy. The blonde dispatcher opted not to tell her about Sergeant Parker’s kids being trapped with her husband. In a soothing voice, Kira said, “I promise you’ll see him as soon as we know it’s safe.”

Confused, Michelle asked, “ ‘Safe’?”

She looked past Kira to the arriving Sergeant Parker, more than a bit bewildered at the characterization of her husband. Grim, but gentle, Sarge told her, “Michelle, we need to understand what he’s doing, where he’s coming from. Can you help us?”

“Yeah, of course I’ll help,” Michelle replied.

“Thank you,” Parker said with a smile and a brief shake of his head, “ ‘Cause um… ‘Cause you’re the one who knows him best.”

Michelle’s response was close to bitter. “You think? I know the guy I married. I remember him. This guy?” She trailed off, shaking her head in remembered dismay. “I mean, I was counting the days till he retired. Till he came back to us. To me and Liam. Wake up to the world. Have a barbeque, put up his feet. Enjoy something.”

Sorrowful, Greg concluded, “Didn’t work out that way, huh?”

“No,” Michelle agreed with a tiny sniff. “ ‘Cause when he took off the uniform, it turns out there was nothing left underneath.”

* * * * *

One of Troy’s guys worked his way over to Ed and Wordy as the pair watched Danny guzzle his scotch. “Almost there,” Danny rasped, looking around at his piles of paper and setting the bottle down with a _clink_.

“All right,” Ed remarked, “we just got to get past the part of him that sticks to a plan.”

Troy’s guy suggested, “Maybe we bypass the logic, force him to run out of there.”

Overhearing, Danny dryly observed, “Thinking about tear gas? The animal instincts in the midbrain thinks it’s Johnny run for air. I don’t recommend it.”

He needn’t have spoken; Ed was already shaking his head at Troy’s guy. Dropping his voice as low as he could, “Can’t do it with the Boss’s kids in the line of fire.” His words were backed up by the glare Wordy was leveling at Troy’s subordinate. Sure, they all wanted Danny out safely, but it was _not_ going to be at the expense of or risk to a pair of trapped teenagers.

And if Danny threw a mildly puzzled look at the silent SRU team, surprised they hadn’t pressed the tear gas issue, well, fortunately, he still hadn’t cottoned onto the fact that he wasn’t alone…or turned to look in the left corner of the room.

* * * * *

“Does he let you touch him?” Greg asked, as careful as he could be with Michelle.

“No, he doesn’t. And I don’t mean just in bed.” Michelle trailed off a second. “I try to hold his hand, he pulls away. The last time he touched me, I woke up with his hands around my neck and he was screaming at me.” Greg gulped a little at that, but Michelle was just getting warmed up. “He’s been hanging off a cliff all these years. He won’t talk to me. Not about work, he never has.” Her voice turned angry, accusing. “And he won’t talk to you. ‘Cause he knows. You’ll shake your heads, ‘Oh, so sad to see the great guy fall. What happened to him? We thought he could hack it.’ And you’ll turn your backs so that you can keep on pretending that he’s the exception.” Greg held still through her diatribe, forcing himself to keep from reacting. As the angry woman whirled and walked away, he nudged Kira in her direction. Michelle was wrong, though, they wouldn’t turn their backs or walk away. Daniel deserved better.

* * * * *

A gryphon’s eyesight, like an eagle’s, is far keener than a human’s. Despite being only half-grown, the gryphon hidden under the desk in the briefing room could quite clearly see every drop of sweat on Mister Rangford as well as every detail, scratch and nick in the shield visible through the now open steel barrier. The two animals had traded looks at the suggestion both could hear of using tear gas, but that was shot down so quickly they didn’t have time to get anxious. Both teens, once the shooting had stopped, had attempted to shift back to human form, but so far they hadn’t managed it. Their attention shifted back to the ongoing confrontation as Uncle Ed opened up the dialogue again.

“Danny. We are not playing chess here, now. You’re thinking about a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” Though Uncle Ed’s voice was calm, the strain was audible to the hiding gryphon. Confused, the two animals traded looks again. _Permanent solution?_

“I appreciate your faith, Ed, but…” Mister Rangford began.

“Right, then you’ve got to appreciate…”

Mister Rangford cut Uncle Ed off with a shout that startled both animals. “Don’t interrupt the subject!”

“Don’t handbook me, Danny,” Uncle Ed gritted out.

Uncle Greg, behind Uncle Ed, stepped in. “Danny, faith is what you need when there is no proof. We don’t need faith to know that you deserve to live.”

Alarmed looks were traded back and forth; they didn’t want to see Mister Rangford die. The phoenix gave a tiny chirp of fear and the gryphon nuzzled her, nudging her back and under his wing.

“Oh yeah?” Mister Rangford demanded, “That’s something you can prove?”

“Yeah,” Uncle Greg confirmed and the gryphon could see his brief smile, “Yeah, I think I can. Let’s talk about all the people whose lives were made longer because of you.”

“Don’t start,” Mister Rangford growled.


	7. Tragedy and Baseball Cards

Harvey’s gaze was distant, looking into a day almost two decades in the past. Behind him, Sam wrote out notes on a paper taped to a handy locker. As Harvey began, he turned toward Sam. “The Gehring incident. It was a home invasion. Regent Park, but this little place was neat as a pin. You know who’s keeping house? Little 18-year-old girl. Parents are both deadbeats-- one’s in jail, one’s AWOL-- and she’s holding it all together, looking after her little brother and sister.”

Impressed, Sam asked, “What happened with the home invasion?”

Shifting and giving a partial shrug, Harvey continued. “By the time we got on scene, the bad guys had gone. The girl, she’d taken a whack at one of the guys with a baseball bat, scared him away. So, team went back out on patrol, and Danny and I stayed behind to write it up.”

Confused, Sam queried, “That was it?”

“The little guy, ten years old, he wanted to show us his baseball card collection. I said, ‘No, we got to go.’ And Danny said, ‘No. Let’s stay.’ He just bought a fresh pack for his own son, went out to the truck to get them. We sat cross-legged on the floor.” Harvey’s gaze went distant again. “Middle of the afternoon, summer day…trading baseball cards with the little guy… It was good.”

Sam arched a brow. “You remember this pretty clearly for such a long time ago.”

Matter-of-fact, Harvey finished with the punch line. “Yeah, well, you would. Two hours later, it wasn’t our file anymore. It was Homicide’s.”

* * * * *

The phoenix huddled under her brother’s partially outspread wing, shuddering at the almost visible tension in the room. She could sense Mister Rangford’s utter despair and refusal to truly _hear_ what his fellow officers were saying.

Uncle Ed wasn’t giving up though, “That little girl down by the dock. Remember her? She was turning blue. She could hardly breathe and you did mouth-to-mouth on her in the ambulance, all the way to the hospital. Buddy, you saved her life.”

Neither was Uncle Greg. “You stayed with her the whole time and then they called from the hospital.”

Mister Rangford finished it off for the two men, “To say ‘Congratulations. She’s gonna live.’ ”

“Danny, you got the Silver Shield for that, buddy,” Uncle Ed pointed out. The phoenix’s crest lifted a little. Surely, _now_ Mister Rangford would understand.

With a bitter, angry voice, Mister Rangford shot down the entire attempt. “Proudest freakin’ nine seconds of my career. ‘Cause then they give you the punch line, which is something we don’t tell the rookies, hmm? About how the girl was brain-damaged from lack of oxygen. Oh, yeah, she’s going to live, like a vegetable, shriveling up until her family decides to pull the plug, put her out of her misery. Which I got to say, seems to be a good idea right about now.”

_Oh, Aslan…_ The phoenix didn’t dare let out a sound, but she…she remembered. Remembered the bitter, awful hope they’d had at St. Mungo’s that maybe, just maybe their parents had survived the destruction of the manor. The utter devastation of being told by a haughty, unsympathetic Auror that their parents were dead; that it had been some kind of freak accident rather than murder. She’d screamed then, howled the truth in the man’s face, only to be caught off guard when the Auror slapped her. Lance had gone for the man’s throat with a feral roar and he’d had to be pinned down by three burly orderlies. Uncle Greg would never know how he’d saved their lives by _being_ there, taking the tears, the misery, the anger without protest or complaint. Yes, yes, she could see why someone would suffer even when they themselves had done nothing wrong.

* * * * *

Greg Parker strode toward the locker room where Sam and Harvey were, hopeful he could get some additional answers. Halfway across the atrium, a voice called, “Sergeant Parker!”

Greg turned, a frown on his face, to see a rather unwelcome figure. “Inspector Wilkins?” He’d had the understanding that Team One’s days of dealing with the narrow-minded, short-sighted man were done.

Wilkins looked worried and he peered toward the briefing room and the men arrayed outside it. “Would I be correct to surmise that Heir Calvin and his sister are inside that room?” he inquired, gesturing to Danny’s hideout.

“Yes,” was Greg’s clipped reply. “Why are you here?” If this was about helping out magic-side, they’d have to wait for another day.

Auror Wilkins sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Since your charges are underage, they’re under the Trace. It’s for making sure kids don’t break any of the underage magic laws. When the Underage Magic Division picked up magic here, they sent word to Madame Locksley and she sent me here. I was, um, the only one available.”

Greg dropped his head. “So they _did_ use magic?” He kept his voice low and had turned his radio off before the other man could start speaking. “We thought they had, but we weren’t sure.”

“Disillusionment and Cooling charms,” Wilkins confirmed. He looked around the station. “I have to say, I’m pretty sure both come under self-defense…don’t you people usually have something to keep it cool here?”

Greg couldn’t help the grin that quirked his lip. “AC’s out…been out for a day or so. They got a guy coming in tomorrow to fix it. And before you ask, no, it was not the busted AC that started today’s ‘fun and games’.” He arched a brow. “Did the kids use anything else? Or is there something else you needed?”

“As far as we know, just the charms I mentioned.” Wilkins looked toward the briefing room and his offer was rather startling. “Anything I can help with?”

Greg blinked in surprise, but gave the Auror a tired, but genuine smile. “No, thank you, Inspector. We’ve got it under control.”

To his shock, Auror Wilkins gave him a slight bow. “Would you mind if I stayed…just in case?”

Greg opened his mouth to decline, but paused, studying the surprisingly humble attitude of the normally arrogant man. “I don’t suppose Homicide is part of your normal duties?”

A brow lifted, “It’s not my specialty, but all Aurors know the basics, Au…Sergeant Parker.”

“All right then, _Inspector_ , with me, please.”

Auror Wilkins nodded, understanding the silent order to use his ‘cover rank’ and followed Greg to the locker room. As the pair entered the locker room, Greg asked, “We get the homicide file yet?”

“Squad car’s flying it over,” Sam replied. The blond arched a brow at Wilkins, but he kept any remarks to himself. Beyond a cursory look, Harvey didn’t pay the Auror any notice.

As he shook Greg’s hand, Harvey queried, “Give you a deadline?”

“Yeah,” Greg confirmed. “What’s left of his bottle of scotch. Harvey, what do you remember?”

As Greg looked at the paper Sam had made notes on, Harvey covered the basics. “Two victims: older sister, younger boy. Perps got away. Tragic as heck, but it’s nothing we don’t see.”

Thoughtful, Greg pressed. “Yeah, but why did this one get to him? What was different about it? Did you ever talk to him about it?”

Harvey’s shrug was helpless. “I don’t know. You know how it goes. I might’ve asked him how he was doing.”

“And what’d he say?”

Another shrug. “ ‘I’m fine.’ ”

“ ‘I’m fine.’ ” Greg murmured. Like mentor, like mentee… Greg wondered if anyone had ever asked Daniel Rangford if he’d done the math on all the ‘I’m fine’s.

* * * * *

Babycakes maneuvered into position for the third, and final, time; its arm lowering the water cannon into position. At a safe distance, Lou spoke into his headset, “Inspector, we’re getting ready to counter the package here. No one comes close.”

Behind him and Spike, on a grassy knoll, near a tree, Inspector Stainton lifted his radio and reported, “Perimeter is locked up.”

* * * * *

Auror Wilkins hovered in the background, watching Sergeant Parker and his team work. This was the first time he’d worked with Parker since the serial killer case that had eventually ended in Team One proving they were equal to the best Aurors. Today’s events were also proving to the Auror that Team One was more than a group of Muggles running around with guns and shooting people. The man he hadn’t met before had been fully briefed on the situation, including the fact that Parker’s two charges were trapped inside the room with Daniel Rangford.

“Are they okay?” Silver asked, worry in his face and voice.

“We don’t think Danny’s found them,” Parker said, his voice as matter-of-fact as he could make it. “I’m hoping they keep their heads down.” As he spoke, he was making notes on another taped up sheet of paper.

The dispatcher, Kira Marlowe, entered with a box in her arms and a cheerful, “Incoming from Homicide. Gehring, Jeremy, August 8th, 1989.”

As Marlowe put down the box, Braddock echoed, “ ‘August 8th.’ ”

“That’s today,” Parker said, grimly. He reached in, pulling out a folder and handing it to Sam. “Find out why,” he ordered.

Marlowe, digging around in the box, announced, “We got a witness tape.”

“All right, dig out a VCR,” Parker instructed crisply, his focus on the files in front of him. Wilkins drifted forward and took the folder Parker passed him. He opened it up, swallowing at the photos within. Magical murder was usually much cleaner, and, as he’d told Parker up front, Homicide wasn’t his usual fare. Even so, the Auror was grimly determined to pull his weight.

He did look up at Marlowe’s, “Oh, you got to be kidding me. It’s Beta.” Though she sounded exasperated, she hurried off without further complaint, leaving the Auror wondering why ‘Beta’ was a bad thing.

* * * * *

Ed Lane gritted his teeth as Danny swallowed down more liquid from his bottle of scotch. The water bottle they’d rolled in was going untouched and ignored. “Oh, he’s almost finished that bottle,” he muttered to Wordy. “I’m going to open it up.”

Wordy cast him a worried look and very subtly tipped his head toward the kids’ hiding place. “Are you sure?”

Ed met his best friend’s eyes and nodded once. Yes, it was a risk; yes, it would make it more likely that Team Three would see the kids, but it had to be done. “Yeah, we need more access.” Turning to the others, he reeled off, “Sam, I need you. Troy, grab your guys. We’re going to open this up.”

In the room, Danny let himself fall back on the floor, empty scotch bottle in hand. Outside the room, Sam darted up the stairs from the locker rooms as Troy and his men collected the gear and shields needed once the panels were open.

As Greg Parker raced after Sam, Michelle intercepted him with a, “What’s happening?”

Greg turned to her, saying, “Michelle, I need you to stay out of range.”

Michelle shook her head, her head high and her stance firm. “I won’t hide in there anymore. He’s my husband.”

It only took a moment for Greg to decide. “You know what? You’re right.” He grabbed hold of her hand, squeezing briefly. “You’re right. I want you to come with me.” He turned and led the way, with Michelle right on his heels. “I want you to hide behind the shields, and I want you to stay close.”

Outside the briefing room, Troy held a shield in his left hand and his sidearm in his right. Ahead of him and to the right, closer to the door, Wordy held the same stance. Danny rolled his empty scotch bottle out of the room and Ed kicked it aside, out of the way. To Wordy and Ed’s right, one of Troy’s men held a shield as Sam sheltered behind it, weapon drawn. Ed allowed a fleeting hope that Troy’s guy would stay focused on Danny and not see the kids. “All right, we ready? We ready? Sam.”

With that, Ed’s hand touched the controls and the blue poly-carb panels slid to their perpendicular position, exposing the entire room to those outside. Inside, Danny was standing, gun in hand, slowly bringing it up to his head. Ed heard two aborted squeaks from the right side of the room, fortunately, no one else seemed to notice them. “Danny? Listen to me, man. Danny, Danny, don’t do it! Don’t do it!” Ed begged.

Wordy added his two cents. “Danny, put the gun down!”

But it was the Boss, coming in from the stairs who managed to halt Daniel. “Danny! Michelle is here!”

Hiding behind him, Michelle cried, “Daniel.”

Danny’s eyes, which were shut, flew open and his gaze slipped to Michelle. “Michelle?” he breathed. “What are you doing? You can’t be here.” With as much of a shout as he could manage, Danny yelled, “Get out of here! You shouldn’t be here!”

“I’m not going anywhere, Daniel!”

“Get her out of here!” Danny wailed.

“I’m not going anywhere!”

“Don’t make me do this in front of her!” Ed flinched, his gaze going involuntarily to two kids who shouldn’t have been there either. _If having Michelle here means you won’t do it, then she’s_ staying _._

Ed raised his voice. “Danny, just listen to me now.”

But Danny’s mind had fixed on one solution and one course of action, with only one true impediment left. “Get her out! Get her out of here!”

“Danny, put that gun down,” Ed pleaded.

Behind him, Greg’s voice lifted again, grim with determination. “We’re not leaving you, Danny! We’re not leaving you!”

With an anguished howl, Danny cried, “Go on!” The gun shook, but did not waver from its target.

* * * * *

At the train station’s south terminal, Babycakes was ready, its water cannon shifting into the final position. Its operator began the countdown. “In five, four, three…”

His words overlapped with Jules’ as she counted down as well. “Three.”

Two voices spoke. “…two, one.”

“One.”

* * * * *

Unable to pull the trigger with his wife standing there, Danny brought the weapon down, aiming it at his former student. Ed’s weapon snapped up, aiming back, but he held his fire.

Under the table nearby, a phoenix launched itself forward with the beginnings of a war cry. The gryphon lurched to the side, blocking the fire bird and pinning it down with one massive fore-claw. Though the phoenix thrashed, the gryphon held firm. This was not their fight; it never had been.

* * * * *

“Fire in the hole.”

Babycakes fired, the case disintegrating in one blow. Hay and grass flew everywhere and debris from the case littered the ground.


	8. Don’t Tell Me This is How it Ends

“Hold fire,” Uncle Ed ordered, though his weapon remained steady, pointing at Danny.

“Hold fire,” the two under the desk heard more distantly from their uncle.

In the background, a woman cried, “Daniel, please!”

Without looking away, Uncle Ed said calmly, “Michelle, he’s not gonna hurt me. He’s not gonna hurt me. Are you, Danny?”

The phoenix fought to get loose, her shrieks and trills muffled by the thick fur and muscle of the much larger gryphon holding her down. **_Family_** _,_ she cried, **_protect them._**

**_No,_** her brother growled, keeping his volume low. **_Trust them._** Still, she fought, frantic to get free.

“Crossing the line,” Mister Rangford grated. “You think I won’t do it? Cardinal rule. Gun’s pointed at an officer. Huh?”

“Sometimes you’ve got to break the rules, Danny, remember?” Uncle Ed retorted. “Remember who taught me that?”

“I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”

The violet phoenix wailed her indignation as she fought even harder. Abruptly, Uncle Wordy moved sideways, sheltering Uncle Ed behind his shield. As if the movement had flipped a switch, Mister Rangford’s eyes went sideways to thin air.

“Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey, hey-hey.” As he spoke, his gun lowered and he knelt, still gazing at thin air.

The phoenix stilled, staring in shock. **_Why do that?_**

**_I don’t know,_** her brother replied. His head swung down and he pulled back, satisfied she wouldn’t bolt. **_Maybe like before,_ ** he suggested.

She bobbed her head, studying the man. **_Like nightmares, only…waking ones._**

The gryphon shuddered, the movement making his wings rattle. **_Like after mom and dad died._**

The phoenix shuddered too at the memory. The screams, the fire, the jeers of the Death Eaters. Far too many times she’d woken, throat raw and her uncle hovering, ready to hold her as she sobbed. Far too many other times, it had been her brother, or worse, both of them, who’d woken that way. She was thankful the nightmares had never been waking ones, like Mister Rangford obviously had. **_Help?_** she asked.

**_Wait, trust,_** Her brother chided.

* * * * *

Three figures stood around the television, two of them on task and the third doing his best to hide his utter bewilderment at all things technological. To store memories like this, and replay them without a Pensive, it was astounding. Perhaps it was little wonder that his boss found these Muggles so impressive.

“It starts here,” Silver remarked. Marlowe stopped the ‘rewind’ and let the moving pictures ‘play’.

A little girl, nine years old, was on the screen. She had dirty blonde hair done up in pigtails that fell down her shoulders. Grief, shock, and anguish hung off her like a cloak. Though she answered the questions clearly, her voice shook on the edge of breaking. Her name, according to the file, was Petra.

Petra’s first sentence was cut off a little. “…do what Jeremy told me to do. He told me to stay under the bed. So I didn’t see them.”

The interviewer’s back was to the watchers and the technological Pensive hadn’t caught much of the woman. Her voice was gentle, but detached. “But you think they might have been the same men that had come before?”

Petra looked up. “Don’t know why they came back. ‘Cause he said we’d be okay.”

“Who said you’d be okay, Petra?”

“The policeman with the baseball cards. He, he said we’d be okay. Then he went away.” Wilkins cringed. Rangford couldn’t be held accountable for something that had happened _after_ he’d left, but the child’s grief needed a target.

The interviewer didn’t react to the near accusation. “But he didn’t know that they’d come back, Petra.”

“But maybe he did. Because, because he told Jeremy.”

“What do you mean, ‘he told Jeremy’?”

The girl looked down a moment, then back up at her interviewer. “He said, ‘You know what you got to do. You got to be brave and show your sisters.’ And so Jeremy wanted to be brave so he could save me and my sister. But it didn’t work. It didn’t work.”

The three adults traded sorrowful looks and Marlowe reached down to her radio. “Boss, we got something.”

* * * * *

Greg shifted away, turning his back so he could concentrate on Kira’s words. The dispatcher continued, “Home invaders came back. Boy stepped up to protect his sisters, Daniel and his team were done. Daniel didn’t do anything wrong. It was something he told the boy.”

“Yeah, ‘You know what you gotta do? You gotta hide,’ ” Greg said quietly.

“No,” Kira contradicted quietly, “that’s not what he said. He said, ‘You know what you gotta do? You gotta show your sisters you’re brave.’ ”

Greg swallowed hard, nodding at the information. Hoarse, he asked, “What was the boy’s name?”

“Jeremy.”

* * * * *

The gryphon and phoenix watched Mister Rangford, praying that their family could reach the broken man who knelt, trapped in his past.

“Daniel?” Uncle Greg called. Mister Rangford paused, head turning toward his watchers. “Daniel?”

Mister Rangford pushed himself up, focus on his wife. “Shell, you got to go.” The gun came up again, aiming at its owner’s head. “You can’t see this.”

“Daniel, I’m not leaving you!” Missus Rangford screamed.

Uncle Greg stepped in, his voice rising more than enough for his charges to hear. “Daniel, let’s talk about Jeremy.” Mister Rangford froze. “Jeremy? File you wanted. I’m guessing it was about Jeremy, right? ‘Cause today’s the day. Isn’t it? August 8th? It’s funny those days that stick in our minds.” The gryphon saw Mister Rangford shake his head, staggering a little. “Guessing that Jeremy was a pretty brave kid. But I don’t know that for sure. Could you, could you help me out with that one? Daniel?”

Mister Rangford panted, gun wavering between his head and the air above it.

“Danny, you can’t do this,” Uncle Ed insisted, “You can’t do this without…without telling us why!”

With a quavering, broken voice Mister Rangford choked out, “I know…” Silence hung, tension flexing. “I know…about a kid sitting on the floor. I went back. He didn’t look any different from the last time we saw him. His eyes were open. He’s looking at me, baseball cards spread around him. But he’s real quiet.” Two mythical animals blurred; the teenagers reappeared, tears running down their faces. “He’s real still, and I’m thinking, ‘Why is he so still? Why? Why doesn’t he say 'hi'?’ Then I see it. He had a screwdriver buried in his throat. And I put it there.”

“You didn’t put it there, Danny. Criminals put it there,” Uncle Greg told him, his own voice trembling.

“If I hadn’t been called there, I wouldn’t have said that to him,” Mister Rangford cried.

“ ‘You gotta be brave for your sisters.’ ” Uncle Greg filled in.

“If it wasn’t me, he-he would’ve lived.”

“You don’t know that, buddy,” Uncle Greg pointed out. Mister Rangford let out a plaintive, anguished cry. “Danny…”

“I spent my whole career screwing up. Being too late, being too…early, not saying the right words. I spent my whole career looking at the worst twenty minutes of other people’s lives, and I can’t take it anymore.” Two teenagers looked at each other, understanding. The boy gently pushed his sister back and shifted so he could move out from under the desk.

“Danny, how about remembering the good stuff?” Uncle Greg called. “The good stuff-- all the lives you saved, all the people whose lives were made better, their lives were made longer because you were there for those twenty minutes.”

“I can’t remember, you see?” Mister Rangford actually smacked his forehead as he spoke. “I can’t remember! I can’t remember!” Spent, his hand dropped back to his side. “All I see are the ghosts. All I got are the ghosts, the ghosts. I can’t take it anymore.”

The gun snapped down, aiming at Uncle Ed. In the background, Missus Rangford shrieked, “Daniel!”

From the left side of the room, a boyish voice rang out. “I see ghosts too.”

Watery eyes swept left, their owner gaping at the sight of the young teenager standing near the open panels. “Wh-what?”

Tears ran down the boy’s face and he met the broken man’s gaze. “I know…I know about two parents who loved their kids more than life itself. I know about a building that used to be a home. And I know about two kids. Who. Lost. Everything.” Lance shook his head ever so slightly. “The last time I saw my parents, they were _alive_. They _knew_ they were going to die and they did it anyway so we could _live_.”

Mister Rangford’s eyes widened and he panted as Lance plunged on. “The caskets were closed at the funeral. Too…too much damage.” The boy halted, wiping at his eyes. “Their ghosts are _always_ going to be there; I’m always going to wonder what it would have been like if they hadn’t died. Walking my sister down the aisle at her wedding; teasing me over my crushes at school.” Sapphire eyes glittered with more tears. “Don’t do that to your family, Mister Rangford, please.”

Despite the grief, or perhaps because of it, Mister Rangford shook his head, attention going back to Uncle Ed. His grip tightened on his gun and he pleaded, “Eddie…Please. Please help me.” Uncle Ed shook his head, refusing and Mister Rangford demanded, “Pull the plug.” Another shake of the head from Uncle Ed. “Pull the plug.”

Abruptly, Uncle Ed gasped, “Okay, wait,” and pushed Uncle Wordy away. Now unshielded, he released the clip on his gun and held both the empty gun and the clip up.

“No!” Mister Rangford cried.

Still holding the gun and clip out, Uncle Ed knelt, going down on one knee. The gun and clip slipped from his hands onto the floor. “Okay. Danny, this, this isn’t about Jeremy. These guys think it’s all about him, but it’s more than that. Isn’t it?” As he spoke, Uncle Ed undid his black equipment vest, peeling it off and letting it down on the ground. “Jeremy’s just…who you always think about. I get it.” Lance gulped as Uncle Ed went to work on his bullet-proof vest, ripping open the velcro straps and dumping it on the floor. “I get it. You know what, buddy?” He stood, letting pain that he’d buried for months out. “Every time…” he panted. “Every time I look at a darn scope…I see a kid run across. I see a spray of blood.” Behind Lance, Alanna slipped out from under the desk, grabbing her brother’s hand and crying. “You know what else, Danny? You know what else I see?” Uncle Ed reached down, pulling his uniform open. “All the calls we didn’t get to in time.”

The gun slipped down as Mister Rangford nodded agreement, brow crinkling with raw pain. With his own voice breaking and cracking, Uncle Ed plunged on, “The mothers that we couldn’t talk down. The kid who thought it’d be fun to…pull a gun on a cop. You’re not the only one who sees ghosts, Danny.” Mister Rangford moaned. “I got to tell you, I don’t know where to put them anymore either.”

Whimpering and pleading, Mister Rangford wailed, “Eddie, please, no.”

Uncle Ed’s voice firmed up, “You taught me everything I know. You made me who I am, Danny. You can’t…” His voice trailed off a moment, as he gulped back another sob. “You can’t tell me…that this is how it ends.” Uncle Ed moved forward, reaching down for the gun that dangled, almost limp from Mister Rangford’s hand. “You can’t.” Mister Rangford sobbed openly. “Give me that gun.”

Uncle Ed grasped the gun and pulled it away. “No!” Mister Rangford sobbed, “Oh, God.”

Both men wept and Uncle Ed wrapped his mentor in a hug, whispering, “It’s gonna be okay.”

Uncle Greg’s voice was low as he ordered, “Stand down. Stand down.” He and Uncle Wordy pulled the two teens out of the briefing room. He swung Alanna up, carrying her clear as Uncle Wordy scooped Lance up and followed. Outside the room, Auror Wilkins stood next to Missus Rangford, tears falling down his own cheeks as he let the woman sob into his shoulder.

* * * * *

Two SRU members stood on the concrete apron where a suspected bomb had once sat. Around them, hay, grass, and bits of plastic littered the ground. Kneeling, Spike picked up a piece of metal that had once been part of a medal. He pushed himself to his feet, showing it to his friend Lou. Lou held what was left of a wooden plaque. “It was harmless,” Lou observed.

“Just wanted to keep us busy,” Spike agreed, handing Lou the piece he’d found.

Lou keyed his radio. “Inspector Stainton, those witnesses are free to go.”

The pair looked around; Spike’s eyes lit. “Hey, get as many pieces as you can,” he ordered, almost bouncing. Lou arched a brow as his partner pulled out his phone, speed-dialing their boss. “Hey, Boss, I was thinking…” Spike began.

Lou grinned and moved to gather up as many bits and pieces as he could find.

* * * * *

Lance smirked as his sister and Uncle Wordy kept Auror Wilkins busy after the latter returned from the bomb scene with what was left of Mister Rangford’s awards and medals. Looking down he spread out the debris on the desk Uncle Wordy had found. With the fragments arranged, he spread out his right hand over the desk. “ _Gebétan_ **(3)**.” The metal and wood glowed and leapt upwards. Each plaque became the center of a mini-whirlwind, still glowing gold. One by one, the plaques fell back onto the desk, restored and whole. They gleamed as if freshly polished and oiled. The smirk became a grin. _Perfect._

* * * * *

Wordy led the kids back toward the briefing room, Auror Wilkins trailing along behind. He suppressed a whistle when he realized they’d beaten Danny. Danny was only just now coming out of the room he’d nearly committed suicide in, Sarge and Ed beside and behind him. Michelle was waiting, her eyes wary and hopeful. Danny looked wrung out and exhausted, his shoulders slumped in defeat and he was unable to meet his wife’s gaze. Without a word, Michelle held out her hand and Danny took it.

Sarge stayed at Danny’s side, Michelle taking the other side; her grip on her husband’s hand firm. “I’m going to take you to a place, place I’ve been myself,” Sarge told Danny.

The procession paused as Alanna nudged Lance forward. Awkward now, Lance stepped forward with the mended plaques. He offered the stack to Michelle, rather than Danny. “These are yours.”

Danny stared down at the plaques he’d stuffed in a suitcase with hay and grass and left as a distraction for Team One. Michelle shrank back rather than accept them and Sarge finally did so. He met Wordy’s eyes with a question and Wordy nodded once. Wordy put his hands on the kids’ shoulders and tugged them back. Sarge turned and ushered the Rangfords out, murmuring, “We’re gonna get through this.”

Wordy squeezed the kids’ shoulders. “It might take awhile for them to realize it, but you two did good.”

“We know,” Alanna replied, her voice wistful. “After the fire, we didn’t use our family magic until Uncle Greg forced us to.” She looked up, the tears in her eyes matching Wordy’s. “We have to learn it, Uncle Wordy, so they can be proud of us.”

Wordy gathered both teens into a hug. “Trust me, sweetheart, they already are,” he managed.

* * * * *

Greg Parker sat in the reassembled briefing room, holding the transcript for Danny Rangford’s case. It had been far too close for comfort; part of him wanted to ground his charges until they were thirty for leaving their hiding place. Coming to a decision, he rose and took the transcript to the table, laying it in the waiting plastic binder. He signed his name and badge number on the front. As he closed the binder and placed it in its holder, Kira came in behind him.

“Thought we were gonna keep this one in the family,” she observed.

With a rueful smile, Greg replied, “Well, families and secrets, you know? I don’t think that’s such a good thing.” As he handed it off to her, she gave him a little smile and left. Gazing after her, he considered his own words. _Families and Secrets…_

* * * * *

Ed Lane exited his car and stood a moment. He walked to the garage’s center cabinet and began to open it; swinging it shut again as Sophie poked her head in. He stared at her for a moment, then swung the door closest to her open again in silent invitation. She crossed the garage and peeked inside. Newspaper clippings, medals, and awards littered the space inside, each a reminder for the normally stoic man. Slowly, Ed pulled out a blue sheet of folded paper and placed it inside. The words “I’m sorry” looked out at the couple. Sophie pulled her husband down into a hug and the two stood there in silence, Sophie comforting her husband.

 

_~ Fin_

 

[3] Old English for ‘repair.’ Website used is: http://www.oldenglishtranslator.co.uk/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And again we come to a close. I thank all of you who read and commented and humbly request that more of you who are reading and enjoying these stories comment and let me know what you think. What's working and what isn't. I can't promise that you'll see an immediate response to your feedback, but I'll take any and all of your comments into consideration as we move forward. I do treasure each and every comment my stories receive and I'll do my best to respond, even if only in the form of a brief 'thank you'. I may at some point offer an incentive for more comments, but I have yet to work out the logistics of anything along those lines. It won't be happening anytime soon, I'm afraid.
> 
> In the meantime, please join me next Tuesday, February 28th, 2017 as I kick off "Family Heritage".


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